


Gratitude

by MostFacinorous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Underage - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 22:37:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostFacinorous/pseuds/MostFacinorous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What are you doing then?” Stiles is getting nervous. Stiles is getting nervous and uncomfortable, and becoming horribly aware that Derek is staring at his mouth, that their chests are pushed together with Derek’s arm between them, and… </p><p>Derek’s eyes flick back up to Stiles’. </p><p>“Appreciating you, Stiles. Now shut up.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gratitude

“You owe me, you owe me so fucking bad…” Stiles fumbled with the keys he’d purloined from his dad and got the handcuffs undone.   
“I have no idea how they’re going to explain this…” 

Derek rolled his shoulders, not even glancing at Stiles, head swinging to scent the air and look around him.   
“Get the security tapes on the way out.”

Stiles rolled his eyes.   
“Yeah, I mean no, I’m going to leave them there and then just sit in my room until my dad shows up to arrest me. You think I’m so stupid, don’t you? You can’t even say thank you, not even a little appreciation, and then you insult me—”   
His words were punctuated with the thunk of his body being pushed against the wall next to the holding room door.   
“ugh.” the sound of air being forced out of him as Derek’s arm slammed across his chest.   
“Really?” it was so high, he was amazed he didn’t squeak. “Can we maybe get out of jail before you get us caught by pounding me to a pulp? Please and thank you.”   
He shrugged his shoulders, surging up, expecting Derek to back off and disengage, the way he usually did.   
He didn’t, though. He stayed put, and made Stiles stay put too. Which put him on edge. He lowered his voice.   
“Someone coming?”   
But Derek wasn’t distracted. He was focusing on Stiles’ face, Stiles’ mouth. 

“No.”   
Not much of a word, more of a rumble. 

“What are you doing then?” Stiles is getting nervous. Stiles is getting nervous and uncomfortable, and becoming horribly aware that Derek is staring at his mouth, that their chests are pushed together with Derek’s arm between them, and… 

Derek’s eyes flick back up to Stiles’. 

“Appreciating you, Stiles. Now shut up.”   
His tongue appears for a fraction of a second, and then he leans in and his lips slide over Stiles’.   
His mouth is open in shock, frozen in the act of saying something potent and witty, and he can’t even think as Derek’s tongue slides into his mouth. Belatedly, he thinks he should close his eyes, and they slide shut, but now he has the problem of wondering what he should do with his arms, what if his breath smells bad or his mouth tastes funny, why is this happening…   
Derek backs off, and he realizes he didn’t even begin to return the kiss. He realizes he wanted to.   
Oh, as if things weren’t screwed up enough before this…   
He lunges forward and catches Derek’s mouth with his own, and then there isn’t time to worry about much else, as he’s too busy worrying about air and fighting Derek’s tongue with his own, and their teeth clacking together almost painfully, and Derek’s brought his free hand up to the side of Stiles’ head and now the other arm is against the wall, and he’s leaning against him. 

Well, fuck. Stiles tries to pull away, tries to get some space between them, tries to say ‘slow down’ or ‘hang on’, ‘let’s wait’, ‘we should talk about this’. Instead all that comes out is a needy whine, and then he finds his legs are being hitched up and slung around Derek’s waist, and his back is being pressed to the wall, and even through two sets of jeans, he can feel a solid line of warmth from Derek. He groans. 

“Suitably grateful for you yet?” Derek bit out, voice gravel rough and low, the alpha slipping in as he begins grinding against Stiles’ crotch. 

Stiles freezes, and Derek groans, not having noticed yet, as he keeps sliding them together. And it feels good, it does, but Stiles isn’t there any more. He’s caught up on the idea that Derek doesn’t really want him, he just wants him to quit whining about how much they owe him. 

It’s a joke. It always has been. They’re his friends, he cares about them, they watch out for him, and they make him feel useful, and they let him hang around and feel like… like he belongs. They don’t push him up against a wall and dry hump him into oblivion to say thank you. 

How pathetic must Derek think he is. He’s a teenaged boy, sure he thinks about sex. A lot. But does Derek think this is the only way he’s going to get it?   
Thank you for busting me out of jail sex? And it isn’t even real sex, they’re both fully dressed and just rubbing, and… Well, Derek’s probably right, anyway. 

This is probably the only way this would happen. Thank you, Stiles. You’re so helpful Stiles. Here, have an orgasm.   
He probably should be enjoying this as much as he can, since he doesn’t know the next time someone is going to decide he deserves one. 

Derek is growling now, and pawing at Stiles’ pants button, burrowing past the bulk of his sweatshirt. His eyes are dilated and going a little off their normal green, and he keeps making sniffling noises, against the skin of Stiles’ neck.  
He’s pretty sure the warm hand curling around him shouldn’t send a cold spike of ache into his chest.   
This is so messed up. So really messed up, but his hands are wrapped around Derek’s upper arms now, and his eyes are squeezed shut tight and his head is tipped back as he cants his hips into Derek’s fist, and his feet dangle lamely above the floor. Derek is still rocking against him, his hips making Stiles’ back come in and out of contact with the wall. He sucks in a gasp of air, trying to think of words to say something, anything—

“Come on.” Derek growls, and that’s it. He’s done. His body tightens up, and the humiliation and upset inside of him are like glass that his muscles squeeze down on, so that as it feels amazing, he gasps out an empty sob.  
He slumps, and Derek catches him, still hard, but seemingly willing to ignore it for now.   
He takes a moment to get his breath back, and then he shoves, catching Derek by surprise and sending himself tumbling to the floor.  
He scrambles up, tucking himself away and trying to ignore the sting of tears welling up as he turns his back on the asshole who just got him off.   
“Get out of here. I— I’ll take care of the tapes.”   
His voice is destroyed, anguished and wavering. 

Derek obviously can tell something is seriously wrong. 

“Stiles? Did— Did I hurt you?” His brow has lowered and his eyes aren’t visible in the shadow of the overhead lights.

“Just leave.” He’s screaming now, raw and angry and hurt, and all these feelings coiling up in him.   
He doesn’t know if he’s ever yelled at anyone that way. Doesn’t know if he’s ever screamed like that in his life. It feels like the sound just got ripped out of his chest, and he’s crying for real as he finds his way out to the hall and then into the security room. 

He looks for VCRs with tapes, but all he finds are computers. With passcodes. Of course it would be digital. Of course he would have hours of work to do, assuming he even could.   
He sat in the chair, propelling himself a little ways until his arms landed on the desk and he could drop his head into them. And he sobbed, muffling the noise as much as possible. 

“Stiles.” Derek has never sounded so soft, so unsure. “Stiles, I— I’m sorry, I thought—” He cuts himself off, snarling in frustration, and lashes out, his fist destroying a screen. 

“You thought you’d just do me a favor. I know, I get it. Just… leave me alone. Please.” He’s looking up now, eyes wide, mouth trying to stay in its own straight line. Trying not to fight for air through a throat that feels too tight, trying to ignore how blurry his eyes have gotten. He drops his gaze into his lap, then to the floor.

“I wanted to… I do appreciate you. I mean it.” Derek is painfully awkward, barely restrained. He’s miserable sounding, and Stiles peeks up at him.   
He’s pacing, grimacing, agitated and angry and concerned.   
He’s also blocking the door. 

“Well thanks, you made that pretty clear with the hard on you rubbed all up on my ass. What, did you stand there and think of England?” He wanted to be sassy and witty, but all he sounded was wounded. He shook his head and dropped his face back into his hands. 

Derek stilled.   
“What?” He didn’t sound concerned anymore, just furious. Restrained, but obviously angry. 

“Or was it Kate?”

“Stiles.” There is a warning in his voice now, but Stiles is just this side of hysteria, and his mouth is running. 

“I get it you know? I’m that awkward spazzy kid that you guys tolerate and that’s great, and I’m sorry I bitch so much. I just— that’s how I deal. And I get the whole idea of giving me a— a gift, doing me a solid, a nice handy in the hallway—” he choked.

“Stiles, no.” Derek is calmer sounding now, but his face looks— disappointed. 

“Let me finish! It’s always Shut Up Stiles, Do This Stiles, Now Stiles, Don’t Ask Questions, Stiles! All I wanted was, once, just once, a Thank You Stiles. Instead I get… I get a pity grope. Probably the first in a long career, I’m sure you’re so proud to have the distinction. And now— Now the Security is digital. My Dad…” A sob forced its way out, and he pushed through it, all vitriol now, and on a roll. “My dad is going to see me breaking you out, and getting pushed against a wall, and sitting there with my legs around you like —like some kind of whore, and—” He was gasping now, panicking, and Derek lifted a single eyebrow. 

“Are you finished?” 

He just moaned and buried his face again, yanking it up in surprise when a large, warm, gentle hand came down on the crown of his head and stroked. 

“I grabbed you because I wanted you. Have wanted you. You don’t know— you see some spazzy stupid stubborn idiot who likes getting in the way and causing problems and nearly getting himself and others killed—”

“You suck at pep talks.” 

“I see someone who doesn’t back down, who’s loyal. And smart. Even if he never shuts up. And I see someone who is so hurt and so busy trying to hide it, that my wolf just wants to protect him. And the rest of me is exactly what he needs protecting from. So I’m sorry. That was… it was out of line. And I can promise you, it won’t happen again, not unless you want it to.” Derek took his hand away, shoving both of them in his pockets, looking for all the world like he was expecting a blow. 

“I’m not gay.” Stiles sniffed, and mentally kicked himself.   
Derek just nodded. 

“I know.” 

“You’re still a sourwolf and we still have to deal with these security feeds.” 

Derek nodded. 

“You really wanted me?” 

“Want. Still do.” 

Stiles blinked. 

“Wow.” It came out soft, and he was glad he was sitting, or he would be anyway, just less comfortably.

Derek stood, waiting, edgy. Stiles couldn’t blame him. He felt the same way. 

“Next time, I swear to God, wine, roses, chocolates, dinner, candles, a bed, the whole nine yards, you hear me?” 

Derek let out a surprised whuffing noise that Stiles assumed was his laugh.   
He stood, feeling better already, feeling the cold jagged bit starting to heal up, the way werewolf skin did. 

“Alright. Let’s just… screw this. Hale, smash!” 

Derek sighed and let the wolf out to party. Stiles grimly lifted the chair, and with a traded look, they went to work, to the merry sounds of thousands of dollars of police equipment being laid to waste.  
——-

“No, I don’t know, Sir. Hale must have accomplices. No sir, no one person could do that much damage. Ernie was just gone for— Yes sir. Yes sir, I understand. No, we haven’t been able to find him yet—” 

Stiles could hear his dad’s voice from downstairs. He shifted in his bed, torn with guilt. Calls to his dad’s supervisors, that never went well. They’d cleaned up everything, too, made sure that no prints would be left… It was dangerous. So dangerous. 

And the worst part was Derek, curled up upside down on his bed, with his head near Stiles’ feet, his breathing not quite regular enough for him to be asleep, but his presence and stillness and warmth comforting, somehow. 

“You are crazy.” Stiles breathed, knowing full well Derek would hear him.   
Derek smiled without opening his eyes, and punched him in the thigh. 

Stiles sighed.   
Yeah. 

This was his life.


End file.
